


University of Orlais Modern AU

by ElfFromDenerim



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-07-03 21:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15827124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfFromDenerim/pseuds/ElfFromDenerim
Summary: Revera Lavellan has studied hard her whole life in the Dalish reservation to gain an academic scholarship into the University of Orlais, one of the oldest and most prestigious universities in Thedas. Thinking it might be somewhat friendly to elves due to its new Elvhen History and Humanities Department, she quickly finds herself ostracized by humans and the occasional dwarf from the oldest, richest, and finest families (Cousland, Amell, Trevelyan, Pentaghast, Montiliyet, etc).Disheartened and overwhelmed, she finds unlikely help and friendship from her writing professor Varric Tethras, her new dormmate Dorian Pavus, and the mysterious university ghost Cole. But as discrimination mounts and her grades suffer, she finds she must ask for help from her proud, unapproachable Fade Studies professor Solas Fen'Harel if she wants a chance of staying in Orlais... and ignore whatever feelings develop from their tutoring sessions.





	1. Chapter 1

Revera left her clan with a hero’s farewell. 

Well, “clan.” 

They called each other their Clan out of cultural habit, but it was closer to a trailer park slum. The days of nomadic wandering in aravels were long over. It just wasn’t as possible to wander in the modern era as it had in the past; same with Rivaini caravans filled with brightly colored Seers, fortune-tellers and palm-readers. It was the slums or city outskirts for all of them.

“Revera! Revera! I brought this for you!” a little girl with two braided elf tails said, holding up a stuffed bear almost as big as she was.

Revie accepted it with touched reverence. “I’m honored,” she said truthfully, squeezing the bear close to her. “But you don’t have to. I don’t know how I’ll fit all this stuff!”

“And I brought a frog for you!” a little boy with half his front teeth missing said, trying to push the little amphibian into her hand.

“That’s very generous--” Revie began.

“And my lucky ball! Every time you bounce, it’ll bring you luck!”

“Marbles--!”

All the kids in the Clan crowded around her, each talking over the other to show her how much better their treasure was than the others to help her in university.

“All right, all right, da’lens. Back up. Let the poor girl breathe” the Keeper said goodnaturedly, stepping beside Revera.

Revie breathed a sigh of relief, grateful. She liked kids, but was not intuitively good with them. Which was odd, since she not only grew up in close quarters with them in this little vacant lot between run down warehouses, but was a child herself not to long ago. In fact, many hahrens would argue she was still a child yet.

“But I want to show Revie my lucky slim!” one little boy covered in dirt said. They didn’t call him “Pig Pen” for nothing.

“And I wanted to show her…!” one little girl slow of tongue stumbled out, “My collection of daisies before she goes!”

“Now, now, there will be time enough for that when she returns to visit on her holiday break,” the Keeper said, crossing her arms sagely. “You don’t want to give her too much good luck all at once and have too little left to give her when she returns for her holiday breaks, do you?”

Like asking children not to eat too many sweets at once, and not having any leftover for later.  
Still, it seemed to appease their child minds, and cheer them considerably. 

“Yes, Keeper!” they rang out in cheerful chorus, and hung back smiling as their parents stepped forward to put their hands on their shoulders and indulge their chatter as they too wished Revie farewell.

“You do us proud, Da’len” the father who lived in the aravel right outside her door said.

“If anyone could have gotten into the University of Orlais, it would have been you,” a young expectant mother said.

“I never thought I would live to see the day…” an old man wheezed out, “when one of our own Clan would go to university. Let alone

Revie was not the first elf ever to be admitted to the university of Orlais (there were token elven admittences over the centuries, starting with sponors in the medieval ages thanks to initiatives passed by Empress Celene back in the 930’s Dragon Age), but she was the first Dalish elf of their Clan; their province.

Most Dalish went to underfunded backwater schools in reservations, overseen by Chantry missionaries doing everything in their power to snuff out their culture and make them Ansrastian human in all but ears. It was almost as bad as the underfunded schools in the urban slums of alienages, vacant lots, and rural outskirts, where education standards were abysmal, and human teacher rapport with their eleven students worse. 

Only one generation prior, humans had taken Dalish children from their parents and forced them into “Andrastian boarding schools” where they were indoctrinated with Chantry propaganda; taught that the elvhen language, beliefs, and customs were wicked, dirty, and abhorrent. Children were often smacked with rulers for speaking elvhen, and given worse punishments for repeating elvhen customs. It was similar to what the pale Andrastians did to dark-skinned Rivaini and Par Vollen humans. They were given no quality education that would allow them to succeed academically or financially with their Andrastian human peers. Only on how to dress, speak, think, and conduct themselves like Andrastian humans--like monkeys wearing little suits, playing crackerjack boxes. 

Many of the teary-eyed elders now openly weeped with pride to see one of their own attending one of the most ancient and prestigious universities in Thedas had been such children ripped from their parents, their communities, their homes to perform such shallow assimilation, that served no purpose or function other than to impose a final cultural genocide on their people.

And it worked, in its own way. 

Any human walking into their little plot of land sandwiched between nearby rural towns and woods would probably have thought it a bit of a rundown music festival fromt he 60's--hippies and druggies all trying to "commune with nature" with all the success of trailer trash. Due to centuries land theft, urbanization, and genocide, there wasn't enough land for her people to live off anyway. Now they lived on government food stamps and lone convenience stores filled with too-expensive healthy food.

Over what used to be a dump (literally), the Dalish had cleared it out to make room for their three or four aravels (now acting like trailers) spread out over their over a clearing surrounded by shallow woods. 

Where there had once been abandoned scraps of metal, household appliances, broken down cars, and literal garbage, now it was filled with the shrieking laughter of children tumbling out of every aravel doorway. It was filled with the rowdy laughter of men drinking, gambling, and shooting the shit together during all hours. Filled with the sight of eternally pregnant young women and old grandmothers hanging their laundry on clotheslines that criss-crossed between the aravels, in between shouting at their husbands and tending to their dirty-faced and barefoot children. They would see elders rocking sleepily on aravel porches, just happy to be among their own people after being denied such a luxury in their youth.

It was a bit dirty, crowded, and haphazardous, perhaps, but it was filled with heart and soul. The men were mostly good, even if they indulged in vices. The children were sweet and easy to please, finding amusement everywhere. She felt shems would no doubt be charmed by the heart and soul that filled this alienage, even if it was a little messy.

Revera had once seen a well-dressed shem child walking beside his even cleaner and better-dressed mother as they walked across the street, looking for a payphone after their car had broke down. He was loudly wailing that he was bored and there was nothing to do, and how could she talk away his iPhone?! She was the worst mother ever! The mothers were tough but kind, ruling their husbands with iron-fists and their children with caressing hands.

She had scoffed. Dalish children might be a loud, pushy handful, but they were grateful for everything they had, respectful to their elders, and easy to entertain. She had once seen a whole flock of Dalish children entertain themselves all afternoon ogling a centipede they found behind the broken car, and this kid complained that he did not have a phone to stare at?

"And they say our children are poorly behaved," an elderly hahren woman with white braids said as she knitted.

"Yes, haharen," Revera agreed, feeding her more thread since she was so old her eyes and fingers were failing her.

"So, da'len, when will you have kids?" the hahren said briskly, and Revera suddenly rememered she had to go... iron her shoes.

Revera liked children, but... she just wasn't ready. As she watch the kids shrieking, laughing, and playing, she thought they were nice to look at or play games with during some afternoons, but then send them back home to their mothers and fathers so she wouldn't have to deal with them. Plenty of Dalish were getting married young and having kids, or more accurately getting pregnant young and then getting patched up marriages afterwards.

It wasn't as if there was anything else to do.

But not Revera. She had bigger dreams than just sleeping with a clanmate she had no interest in (she couldn't see the big deal, why so many young elves wanted to have sex anyway), and popping out a few kids before she was twenty. She had bigger dreams to move beyond the reservation and help her people, on a more practical level than just repopulating after the last genocide, or to fill in the numbers as more and more left for the city, marrying shems.

That was a problem, but it was also a symptom of the problem. If poverty, lack of education and opportunities, and little legal clout to fix these problems plagued her people, then Revera felt she could do more for them by going to a good school and... Oh, becoming an Elvhen Defense Lawyer? A legal counsel for elves? Join Parliament under elvhen and/or elvhen friendly politicians who could pass better laws to help her people? She didn't know, but she felt she had to try.

So, Revera applied herself to academics with a ferver that unnerved her people in her youth, and especially offended them when she shut herself off night after night in her own curtained corner of her aravel, studying shemlen textbooks and going to shem libraries instead of spending time with her people.

Eventually, it paid off. Toward the end of high school, her good marks all her life and her phenomenal test scores thanks to the encouragement of a few inspirational and encouraging teachers and librarians (plus diversity quotas to fill thanks to new anti-discrimination laws) qualified her to attend some of the top universities in Thedas--Denerim, Rivain, Nevarra, Kirkwall, and Orlais. Schools so ancient and prestigious only the wealthiest children from the oldest families attended generation after generation.

Orlais had seemed like a pipe dream, but its expanding Elvhen Program and newly opened Department of Elvhen History and Humanities made it a prime candidate to apply.

“What’s the answer if you don’t try, right?” the kindly city elven librarian said.

“But then I’ll know the answer is no,” Revie had said discouragingly. “What if I submit and they turn me down?”

“Then it’ll be no different than if you didn’t submit at all,” the kindly librarian smiled.

So she did, and she was accepted. Not only that, but on a scholarship.

“PRAISE THE CREATORS!!!” Her clan had screamed when she opened and read the acceptance letter allowed to them, and they cheered and threw confetti in the air, and stayed up dancing, feasting, drinking, and celebrating long into the night.

And now we’re here.

Revie’s success was their pride. She was proof that a lowly Dalish slum like them could be more than the parking lot trash humans saw them as. She inspired young da’lens to apply themselves in school for the future. She gave them hope.

After hours of tearful handshakes and good-byes (elves never merely said “goodbye” and simply walked away like humans; they tended to linger and talk for hours after the first “goodbye;” start to leave, remember something else they forgot to say, which would open another lengthy conversation, only to hug and say “goodbye,” only for someone to remember something else they forgot to say, which opened another lengthy conversation, again and again for at least several more times, until external circumstances forced them to part ways), the Keeper was finally able to peel Revie away from her over enthusiastic Clan when the Mabari Hound Bus arrived.

“Now remember, eat plenty of fruits and vegetables while at university!” a young aunt said as she handed over a bag of pressed herbs from the potted herbs on her aravel windowsill.

“I will,” Revie assured her.

“And be sure not to stay up too late drinking or partying!” an old woman with a hunched back and white hair said. “I know you kids like to have fun, but you cannot lose that scholarship to bad grades!”

“I understand,” Revie smiled, a little nervously. It was something she worried about already, and hearing her fear voiced out loud made her stomach flip.

“Be sure to make lots of new friends while you’re there!” a young mother with four boys pressed as Revie laboriously tried to lug her suitcases onto the bus. “With other elves, of course.”

“I will,” Revie grinned.

The human busdriver crossed his arms impatiently, and Revie flashed a pained smile that said, “I know, I’m sorry.”

Even when she was loaded onto the platform with her suitcases in hand, her Clan still tried to pour into the bus doors, talking over each other trying to give last-minute suggestions and farewells.

“Be sure to brush your teeth every night!”

“Don’t stay up too late, it’ll wreck your health!”

“Go to parties, have fun!”

“Take double notes of everything in case the shems try to steal it!”

“Don’t trust those shems they try to board you with--ask for an elvhen roommate!”

“Be sure to make plenty of friends!”

“Ooh, you think she’ll meet a nice elvhen man from a good family? Oh, Revie! Try to meet a nice elvhen young man from a good family!”

“All right, all right, we have all given the best advice that we can,” the Keeper said serendipitously, subtly moving between the crowd of over-helpful elves and the huge Mabari Hound Bus doors, so that they would back up enough for the shem to close it. “The rest is up to Revera, to show the world what we Dalish can do.”

The crowd of elves seemed satisfied, and backed away from the bus with satisfied smiles on their faces.

Revera’s heart swelled for them.

They said their final goodbyes as the busdriver snapped the doors shut with an impatient jerk of his right hand lever.

The bus groaned to life, and screeched briefly before rumbling slowly forward. The doors only slightly muffled the last round of goodbyes from the crowd of over-eager elves as they rumbled down the pothole-ridden, deserted streets.

Revera pressed her hand against the glass and waved goodbye to her 

It was funny. Toward the end of that several-hour farewell she had spent a good deal of time being eager to be on the bus for some peace and quiet. Now, the silence was starker than any noise, and she longed for the clamor of her people.

The Mabari Hound Bus was mostly empty, with maybe four shems and one dwarf, all sitting alone toward the back. It was four in the morning, after all.

Since the bus was assigned seating, and she had more than a twelve hour drive ahead of her (she would have flown by plane, but frankly, it was too expensive), Revera slowly made her way down the aisle, looking for her assigned seat. When she found it, just two rows in front of the nearest shem, she smiled and started looking for a place to put her luggage.

“In the compartment above yer head,” the shem behind her said impatiently.

He was a fat, balding, middle-aged man in a hoodie, half-sleeping with his chair leaned back and his arms crossed.

“Oh,” Revie said, feeling her cheeks burn. She’d never been in a bus like this. Maybe a downtown city bus, but not a huge one meant to cross hundreds of miles in a day.

Suddenly she felt aware of her every move from the shem and durgen eyes behind her; how she must look to the more experienced and world-weary shems. Of how awkwardly she moved, how hesitantly she peered around, and how painfully naive she was of how buses worked. She must have really looked the Dalish bumpkin. 

Suddenly she felt painfully self-conscious of her shabby homemade clothes, of her potato sack bag, of her too-big hand-me-down men’s work boots. Of her garish vallaslin; lyrium blue to remember her people’s history of being rounded up by Templars. Suddenly she wished she’d gone with a softer color, like silver.

She paused in trying to heave her too huge potato sack overhead to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear; suddenly aware of the blue-green vine tattoos that poked out of her wrist from her too-big hoodie, and how garish her albino white hair and skin looked. Just that evening she felt her hair as bright as starlight, her skin as pale as the moon. In these garish fluorescent bulbs, her hair suddenly seemed frizzy, unkempt, and bone-yellow, and her skin dead fish clammy.

“You live back there?” the durgen a little ways across the aisle grunted curiously.

Revie paused in trying to heave her potato sack over her head. “Yes!” she beamed.

He crossed his arms and hmphed. “What a dump!”


	2. Chapter 2

It took three days to reach Val Royeaux from Wycome, and Revera spent most of that time wide awake, fearing she’d miss her turnover if she fell asleep, and fearing humans might steal her stuff whenever she got up to shower or use the bathroom.

If she took a plane she would have arrived in a fraction of the time, but sadly trains were only a fraction of the cost. She was still poor, and her scholarship only covered tuition and dorm, not travel. She couldn’t even afford treats in the trolley they pushed down the isle, nor hot meals in the dining car.

So she propped up her large potato sack against the window of every train she was in, leaned against it to let others know it belonged to her, and even used it as a pillow the few times she allowed herself to nod off. She also happily ate the food her clan packed for her for her trip. 

She saw the way shems snickered or scoffed when they saw her unwrap a bandanna around “elfy” food, but she tried to ignore them, grinning at her food and feeling like she would feast like a king. It was getting up to pee or bathe that was the hard part.

By the time she finally approached Val Royeaux, she was exhausted from three days of staying vigilant for stops, turnovers, or potential thefts. Crossing a whole continent yielded beautiful views of many landscapes and climates from her window (from farm fields, to wild fields, to rolling hills, to sparkling beaches, to rocky mountains, to a whole under-mountain tunnel that went on for ten miles!), but it turned to very flat and plain farm fields leading up to Val Royeaux.

So she was not prepared for how huge and beautiful Val Royeaux actually was. Travel fatigue coupled with lack of sleep combined with the bland scenery as her long journey neared its end left her bored and a bit anxious to get there already! She couldn’t wait to find a bed with a locked door to fall asleep in—only to see that grand city of stone towers with gilded spires and crystal domes glide into view.

It was even more beautiful and crowded at the train station. While the “station” near her reservation was a single weathered sign in an abandoned field by a pothole-ridden road, and the train stations in all the cities they passed tended to have one or two platforms, this seemed like a whole metropolis in a single station! It was like in the movies! Platform after platform as far as the eye could see, with crowds of people shuffling under stone arches and fine statues. 

She felt like more of a Dalish bumpkin than ever. Humans in smart suits and classy trenchcoats, tights, and shiny black shoes (heeled or otherwise) moved business to and fro. Even the elves were dressed nice. She saw more vendors and stands selling airport food and giftshop trinkets than the entirety of the alienage market. 

Her eyes widened when she spotted her first Qunari! They were taller and more fearsome than she’d ever imagined! 7 feet all, deep brown/grey-skinned, horns like a mountain goat! He was standing beside a Jamba Juice while a smiling elf handed a shem his order, clearly looking irritated.

She spied another vendor where a grinning dwarf was cracking a joke at a Qunari reading a newpaper on a bench. The Qunari scowled at a joke she coudln’t hear, flicked the paper and read it more intently. 

Outside, cars and buses filled the station. It was easy to get lost, and easier to get swept away by the crowd.

Revera’s fatigue was momentarily forgotten as she gazed with wonder at such a breathtaking metropolis, filled with so much grandeur, history, and wonder. She grinned excitedly at all the people coming in and out of the station; at the mix of shiny new technology interspursed in this grand old station filled with traditional architecture around every corner.

She wasn’t even worried about missing her bus, since it was a common city bus where a new one would arrive every 15 minutes, and they had men in suits waving signs to let newly arrived passengers know where they were heading. “University of Orlais.” Perfect.

She remained excited as she got onto the last bus before she reached her destination. It even had room to put her stuff! (All the luggage was kept in a compartment below passenger seats.) was not nearly as run-down as the one she started in. It lifted easily off its tires as it started, and only gave a slight squeak as it rolled to life, rather than the heavy screech or rumble as the bus in her hometown had. The bus driver (heck, the passengers) was also a Rivaini woman, more sleek, friendly, and well-dressed. This was a new city!

But as the drive wore on due to being stuck in afternoon traffic and Orlais just being a big place (one of the biggest cities in Thedas), the excitement wore off and Revie felt herself begin to crash. Three days without proper sleep, plus travel fatigue, plus constant anxiety that she might miss her stop or turnover or find her stuff stolen, had taken its toll. 

She struggled to stay awake as she admired the beautiful scenery; the grand architecture towering over the smart car-flooded streets, the crowds of smartly dressed people flooding every cross walk, statues at every corner, pigeons flocking here and there above people’s heads. It was very picturesque, and she tried to stay

She wound up seated beside a dwarf typing on his laptop in the bus. He had the little fold-up table attached to the chair in front of him down (a marvelous invention Revie had been caught staring at in the first bus she went on), and three books on the little table stacked beside his laptop. He wore a pair of reading glasses, and a chain hanging around his neck over his open shirt and chest hair.

He was very handsome, and had an amiable air that made him easy to talk to.

Revie was grateful to be sitting next to him at first, given how unfriendly most of the other shems and durgens had been on her journey so far… until his friendly chatter wore on, and her brief burst of adrenaline from arriving at the city started to wear off.

Even though everyone else in the bus seemed to be quiet or minding their own business, this dwarf seemed to love talking to everyone or no one in particular. Unfortunately, he wanted to talk to her.

Between her travel fatigue and absorption with the scenery, Revera had a hard time mustering the concentration to pay attention to what he was saying. He seemed to love talking about this or that—she didn’t catch a word of it.

“… So what about you, you new to Orlais?” he finally asked.

“How could you guess?” she asked with a sly smile. Her head rested casually against her hand, and her elbow against the window sill.

From her slight reflection in the window, she saw massive purple bags under her eyes, which were swollen almost shut with exhaustion. She flinched slightly.

“I have an eye for these things,” he said in amiable self-satisfaction, having seemingly missed or overlooked her sarcasm and her jolt at her own reflection. “Based on your wardrobe (not to mention your vallaslin), I’d say you must hail from one of the Dalish reservations.”

“That’s very perceptive of you,” she grinned.

“So, I take it you’re from the Free Marches?” he continue.

“Oh?” she started. How did he know?

“Accent,” he tapped his noggin. “I’m from Kirkwall. But you’re from… further east, maybe?”

Now she was interested. She lowered her elbow from the window cautiously. Kirkwall? Free Marches, like her? What were the odds?!

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Come on, don’t leave me in suspense!”

She thought about it, but due to her exhaustion she quickly forgot what the question even was. She paused, lost in thought and somewhat zoned out in her contemplation. Did the Dalish even have different accents from different regions? Now there was a scary thought! Another sign of their lost unity.

“Ansburg?” he continued, “Ostwick? Agh, this is going to bother me.”

“Wycome,” she said.

He snapped his fingers. “Wycome! That’s it!” He gave her a sly look. “You seem far from home.”

“A lot of people are far from home,” she said defensively, spying a Qunari further up in the bus. Though they lived in much more of Thedas since the medieval Ages past, for the most part they still lived to the north and east of Par Vollen, Rivain, Antiva, and even the Northeastern Marches. “And besides, you’re from Kirkwall.”

“Yes, but I travel a lot.” He gestured to the silk shirt he was wearing and laptop and books before him, with the air of an important businessman or a celebrity.

“Varric Tethras. Rogue. Story-telling. And occasionally, nosy bus ride roomy,” he winked at her.

She simpered.

What was she supposed to say to that?

“Do you come to Orlais often?” she asked vaguely, looking again out the window to make sure she didn’t miss her stop. Look for the blue dome, and the guided buildings with a crystal Cathedral and a huge statue of Andraste holding a scepter toward the sun, standing taller than any tower. Don’t miss it.

“Of course! My work brings me to all four corners of Thedas,” he boasted. “Tours, book signings, people-watching, finding inspiration for my next novel. The works.”

“Oh,” she said vaguely, not taking her eye off a large teal dome building they passed, to make sure it wasn’t the University of Orlais. No, just the Val Royeaux Opera House. Good.

“But I’m guessing you’re looking for something in particular?” he said, “The University of Orlais, perhaps?”

“How do you know about the university of Orlais?” she asked with a start, looking back at him.

“Oh, just a guess."

He gave her a look that was at once scrutinizing and accepting; attentive without being judgmental. “But based on your attire – home-sewn clothes, hand-me-down men’s work boots, potato sack luggage, star-struck eyes, I’m guessing you don’t travel outside Wycome very often?”

“How very perceptive,” she frowned, vaguely insulted. She dug herself further into her seat, pulling her hood over her head. Let her get lost in it to avoid this conversation.

“Aw, look, I didn’t mean it like that. Look,” he gestured to try to get her attention, but she refused to look him full in the eye. He made his opinion of her clear.

After a long moment hung in the air, he let it out with a sigh. “Ah well, I better get back to my book.”

“Oh, what are you reading?”

He let out a burst of laughter. It was long and loud, and drew a few eyes in the seats around them. It was filled with merriment and mirth, but the sudden forcefulness and lingering bombasity perturbed her. 

When he saw her staring at him, his smile dropped. “What, you’re serious?”

“Shouldn't I be?”

Maybe he assumed she’d seen the title on his table (it was right there in front of her) and thought she was making a joke by pretending not to know it was? Maybe it was rude that she’d been so inattentive that she didn’t even bother trying to see what he was reading. He was very attentive and observant of her. Were all Orlesians like this?

She read the title of the novel on her side of the laptop. “ _The Champion of Kirkwall_. Is that what you’re reading?”

“Reading? I wrote it!”

Her stomach dropped, and the blood drained from her face. She knew that book.

“YOU wrote it?!”

“Of course!” He picked it up and brandished it like business card. “ _The Champion of Kirkwall. Hard In Hightown. Swords and Shields_. Best-selling mystery, romance, and crime serial. Sold over 30 million copies worldwide. Rated _The New Haven Times_ best-selling author three years in a row—you really haven’t heard of me?

“… Vaguely,” she gurgled out, eyes and mouth still wide as a fish. Her mind was a complete blank, while stomach and feet were lead. “I—I knew those books were famous—everyone was reading them in high school, but...”

“Wait, you haven’t read my books?!”

She winced. _Hard In Hightown_ was all anyone talked about for a few years. 

“It was always checked out in the school library...”

Until someone stole it. It was that popular.

“Ah, you poor thing...” he said with exaggerated pity, and pulled up one of his books. All hard copies. He took out his quill (his QUILL? Who still writes with a quill?!) and scribbled something on the cover in what she assumed was big, loopy cursive. “And who am I making this out to?”

“Um, no one!” she sputtered, and almost rose from her seat. She’d bolt if she didn’t have the window seat and would have to climb over him, knock over his laptop, and crash through the crowd of people in front of them just to reach the closed front door of the city bus.

“Ah, come on. Old Varric Tethras always has time for his adoring fans.”

“I’m not--”

Suddenly, the overhead com rang out, “Now approaching the University of Orlais.”

She almost sighed in relief. “This is my stop.” 

“Of course,” he said. He finished what he was writing with a great flick as the bus slowed.

Revie looked back out the window, and felt a surge of joy when she saw the huge blue dome atop a guilded building, behind an elaborate stone wall with arches between each spire. Further back, she could see many great gilded buildings and towers; a crystal cathedral in the distance, and a great looming statue of Andraste holding a scepter reaching for the sun.

“Here, take this with you, kid,” he said, pushing his book into her potato sack bag. “You could use it.”

“N-no, that’s not really necessary--” she began, trying to find a way to maneuver up and collect her stuff.

The bus slowed to a stop, and at least half the passengers started to rise in preparation for their departure.

“Trust me,” he said. “You’ll need a little light reading to deal with what you’re facing in there.”

Revera felt her blood drain from her all together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I’ve never been to an Ivy League or Top 20 school. My sister has, though, so I’m mostly going to be basing all this off what I’ve seen in the movies, read in articles, and based on what my sister and her Top 20 in the Country Law School friends say.

Revie stood at the golden gates, overcome with awe. Here she was, a scrawny little elf in a faded black hoodie and work boots too big for her, with ripped leggings and a white messy twisty-bun that gave her a rugged charm, standing amid the golden doms, gilded towers, stone archways, and blue mosaic walls as far as the eye could see. She felt like a flea gaping at the spiral horns of a golden halla, ready to leap into the golden fur that promised warm, plump, juicy flesh.

Ew.

That was a gross analogy.

At first, she was so elated to be in the campus at all that she walked dreamily along, slowly turning around in wide circles as she walked, gazing in wonder at what she saw.

She heard some humans snicker near her.

“Hey, you see that?” one snickered.

“Yeah. Total country bumpkin.”

She could hear them chortle as they walked away.

Her spirits sank. It only got worse from there.

A pair of tall blond guys talked by.

“Hey, check out the knife-ear.”

“You lost, sweet-heart?”

She clutched her sack, now hyper-aware of how coarse the burlap felt against her fingers; how awkwardly it hanged on her back.

Several more students talked to her (or, more often, _about_ her) like that. Most of them didn’t talk to her, but got kind of quiet when they saw her, or their smiles dropped as they eyed her, and others walked slightly away to avoid her. Like she was this dirty thing radiating a wet fog they didn’t want to walk through.

Her elation at walking through the pristine golden gates deflated like a balloon when she saw what the other kids were wearing. A whole campus of tall, slim, attractive humans filled the campus – more humans than she’d ever seen in her life at school. And they were all wearing really nice, clean, new, form-fitting clothing. Young men with knitted sweaters over button-up shirts; many in black slacks, khaki and cordory pants. She saw many young women in form-fitting dresses, or silk or satin blouses. 

Everything about them just screamed “NEW” “RICH” “SHINY” “EXPENSIVE”

Growing up on the rez, she was accustomed to being in a pool of fellow elves with baggy, worn-out, home-made or hand-me-down clothes. Here, she was a lone scrawny little elf in a _sea_ of tall, lanky humans wearing store-bought, name-brand clothes. Her faded, over-sized sweatshirt and work boots juxtaposed by her ripped leggings and skirt was perfectly in-place there.

Here, everything about her just screamed, “USED” “POOR” “FRUMPY” “CHEAP.”

The beautiful, huge campus with beautiful, shiny buildings (all gilded and crystal) filled with beautiful, shiny people just made her feel that much more dirty and frumpy.

Since it was Orientation Day, she saw many other human students carrying bags, brief cases, and even rolling suitcases of stuff. Many had personal servants and valets to carry their things for them, or roll them in little metal carts like in fancy hotels on TV. The parking lot was filled with moving vans filled with big burly men in uniform hired to move very nice looking furniture to this or that dorm.

Revie alone showed up barely washed after a three day train ride, carrying a potato sack filled with her clothes, and a napsack filled with essentials like her cellphone, wallet, keys, bathroom supplies, passport, and papers.

Many sneered, smirked, and snickered at her as they walked by. 

One pair of tall blond jocks in sports gear stopped right in front of her. They had to lean down to talk to her. She instinctively lowered her head.

“Hey, check out the scruffy little rabbit,” one blond jock snickered to another.

“Hunting ground’s that way, honey,” he made a playful(?) rawr and biting sound.

Revie wouldn’t learn till much later that he meant the hunting grounds where the old families would go fox hunting atop horses like “civilized” folk. They were implying that she should run over there to be hunted for sport by horseback humans, in between admiring each other’s fancy yet “tasteful” riding getup and form in between drinking highballs.

All she knew was she heard “rabbit” and “hunting ground” in the same two sentences. Given her people's history, she felt very sick.

The heavy shroud of shame weighed on her when she realized she didn’t belong here, and had no idea where she was going beside. 

“I’m fine,” she mumbled as she walked by.

She was also too ashamed to ask for directions, as all the other kids seemed to know (or have a decent idea of where) they were going. There were no stragglers she could ask, either. It seemed everyone traveled in packs of two or three, maybe the occasional four or five. The point was, everyone was with someone, while she was alone. Not just the lone elf (except for valets and busboys carrying human students’ luggage), but the only person without a friend, and without a clue or where she was or where she was going.

Several humans stopped her on the way. One “mean girl” posse was particularly obnoxious about it.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

“This is the University of Orlais, _honey_.”

“Only students are permitted.”

“Then I’m in luck,” Revie tried to smile, “I’m a student too.”

“Bull!”

“Prove it!”

“I don’t need to prove it,” Revie scowled, pulling out her papers, “I have the papers right here.”

They barked out laughing. “’I have the papers right here.’ What does she think this is, the FBI?”

“Why don’t you go to border control, honey?”

They kept laughing till long after she rounded the corner.

People didn’t believe she was a student here unless she had papers to prove it, but when she tried to show them their papers they made fun of her for it! How ridiculous was that?!

She tried again with another group of humans, and they were more overtly snooty and haughty rather than snide or sneering.

“If you’re an _elf_ ,” the girl gagged on the word like it was a slur, “Then your case-handler will be Bull.”

“Yeah, he _loves_ little stragglers like _you_.”

-

It took a good hour and a half to find her dormitory, feeling mocking and judgmental eyes on her the whole time, since she got completely butt-lost and had no one to ask for help. She eventually figured out where the dormitories were by following the other students, who seemed to know where they were going. 

Once she got there, she gaped in awe.

It was like a whole city block. Beautiful old brick buildings done up in the old Divine Victoria style, all tasteful and elegant. But finding her dorm was made no easier. There were “case handlers” meant to help students assigned to this or that find their dorm rooms. No case handler would help a student not assigned to them, and Revie ran into a LOT of case handlers like that.

Most of them snapped at her for asking them stupid questions, or wouldn’t answer at all.

She had assumed things would be done alphabetically like in her school. No such luck.

Finding her dorm was made harder by the fact that dorms were separated by major, not alphabetically by last names. So while she was looking for who handled students with last names starting with “L” (Lavellan), she stumbled across the Business Dorm, the Language Dorm, the Music Dorm, the Sociology Dorm. Students played marching band instruments while students passed by, which was a lot of fun. She laughed and smiled to see students playing a trumpet here, a trombone there, as she walked by the Music Dorm.

A lot of dorms had kids who already found their place creating some kind of entertainment for those still searching. 

The Performing Arts Dorm had one kid juggle in front of his building, and another dress up as a mime. 

The Physical Ed form had kids playing foot ball, kicking and catching balls as they ran through walking students like trees in a field. A coach blew a whistle at them to get them to slow down, but they just laughed and kept running; kept playing. 

The Music Dorm obviously had some kids playing musical instruments. 

Over in the Common Language department, some kids draped a bed sheet over their balcony with a big famous quote from The Bard painted on it.

Despite her self-consciousness, and her frustration at being lost and confused, Revie enjoyed the ambiance. It was hard not to love the passion, energy, and creativity of lots of kids just goofing off. The whole place felt so _alive_. So full of promise. There was a sense of youthful hope, optimism, and comradery among the students. It was their first day in one of the best universities in Thedas. After all the sacrifices and hard work it took to get here—they did it. First day of the best days of their lives.

Revie’s old frustration returned, however, when she found that she had no idea where her dorm was. The Elvhen Studies was a completely new major, so they had not had time to set it up like more of the established majors like Common, Fade, Magic, Music, etc.

A rather indifferent looking counselor for a different dorm rolled her eyes when Revie asked where she might find her Elvhen Studies.

“We don’t have an Elvhen Studies Dorm,” she said, looking at her finger nails. “It’s too small, and too new. Honestly, more a PR experiment than anything else.”

Revie flinched.

“Well, do you know where an Elvhen Studies Major would be assigned?”

The woman looked her over critically. Revie didn’t think the lady was one to judge since she had a big honking nose, large green horned glasses, large and frizzy red hair, bright tacky clothes and even brighter and tackier makeup.

But then, Revie thought dejectedly, she wasn’t much better put-together, and it was wrong to judge a shem for judging her based on her own sorry appearance. Creators, how she longed for a bath.

“That would be Iron Bull.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Revie said the third time that day. “Where can I find him?”

“Over at the football field.”

Revie sighed in relief. Finally, someone who would tell her.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where that is?”

“You can find it on the map,” the lady said curtly, and turned away.

Revie almost gave her a piece of her mind, but the lady was already smiling cheerfully at another student and handing them a flier; most likely a map of the college campus.

Revie walked dejectedly over to a tree, kicked a pine cone, and sank down on the ground under the trunk. She felt ready to cry.

“Excuse me, miss,” a tall young man with a whistle around his neck said.

Revie flinched. He was a tall, buff, and somewhat nice-looking young man with naturally tan skin and smoothly combed chestnut hair.

“I couldn’t help but overhear. You’re looking for the Iron Bull?”

His voice was friendly and reassuring; not judging, not sneering, nor mocking. After the day she’d had, she welcomed it.

“Yes.”

“I was just heading over to the football field myself,” the young man said, pointing over his should. “Just finished making the rounds, need to go back and check on the team. They’re practicing already. Really want to crush those Vints this year. I can show you the way, if you like.”

Revie nearly cried and collapsed with relief all at once. “I’d like that.” She scrambled to her feet and got her stuff.

Like a gentleman, the boy offered to carry her potato sack for her. She felt uncomfortable letting a shem hold her stuff, but after how much she’d been through, she welcomed the relief.

They got a number of odd looks as they walked along. A young man carrying a big lumpy potato sack and a frumpy elf in baggy clothing. They must have been quite a sight. Yet, the stares and snickers didn’t seem to bother him any.

“I think it’s really lousy of Bull not to be there to greet you at your dorm,” the boy said mildly. It wasn't angry or harsh--just a statement of fact. “I had to talk to him about this last year.”

“Oh?” Revie said. 

“Especially with you being our first scholarship from the rez.”

“Oh.”

They walked in silence for a bit.

“Does he do this often?”

“Only most days,” the boy smiled. “You’ll like him. He’s a good sort. But he can be rather… unorthodox.”

Revie wouldn’t learn till later that ‘unorthodox’ in traditionalist school like this either meant “very odd/eccentric,” or “deeply efficient but not by the books.” Bull was a bit of both.

They finally made it to the practice field, where the University’s team was already practicing. She could see they were all in their sports jersies, and playing with all the vigor of a professional sport’s team—not the friendly comradery of school kids practicing. Or perhaps things were more competitive here in university, rather than the public school on the rez? 

Also, despite the school being mostly humans, among the players Revie spotted a dwarf and three elves. 

Her breath caught in her throat. 

Four elves attended the University of Orlais, including her. She’d heard three elven girls got in last year on sports scholarships. She was the first one to get in on an Academic Scholarship (an honor not held by an elf since the Dragon Age). And here they all were, being overseen by this “Iron Bull.”

 _Segregation_ flashed across her mind.

She heard a loud whistle, and followed by a commanding voice boom, “CHARGERS! Stand down!”

The students ceased their competitive play (though one of the elven girls managed to land a good kick to the goalie's face) and made their way over to hear the coach.

As they were making their way over to Revera’s general vicinity, she realized the coach must be nearby, and she turned to look—then gawked.

“Krem! How’s we doing?” the coach called.

“Why are you asking me? I just got here!” Krem said.

“You’re training to be an assistant coach, right? You gotta know these things.”

Krem looked at the players, a few of whom held up several fingers.

“Five or six to one, coach!” Krem replied with authority, “No fouls.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” the coach said. “Tell them to take another ten, then take a water break.”

“You heard him, team!” Krem called, and blew a whistle as they trudged back to the field.

He stood up from the bench, and Revie felt like a bunny shrinking from a giant. She’d seen Qunari before, but never like this. He must have been close to 8 feet tall, and almost as wide—with thick muscle. He was covered in scars, wore a back brace around his waist, boxing hand wraps, and a knee brace. How could she tell? He was shirtless, and wore only knee-length gym shorts and boots. His clothes were as worse for wear as his body. All looked like they’d been battered to hell.

He had horns like an ox. No—like a dragon’s.

Yet, he moved with an easy, confident grace.

Revie shrunk back instinctively, wishing she still had Krem to act as a buffer.

She half-expected him to take offense at her conduct, but he addressed her with a cheerful, friendly, easy manner. 

“So, you’re the new transfer student, huh?” He said affably. “Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

His friendly demeanor flooded her with relief. Like she were any other student, not a…

Yet, she couldn’t think of anything to say. “So, Iron Bull--” she squeaked.

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away,” he chuckled, and motioned for her to follow him.

Suddenly her joints felt very rusty and awkward as she followed him to the bench he’d been sitting at, by the water table. 

The young man who showed her the way walked up. The coach—er, Iron Bull motioned to him. “I see you’ve met Cremisius Aclassi, my assistant coach.”

Revie did a double-take. Assistant coach?! 

“Good to see you doing well,” he said. “Got the timer running for ten minutes, coach.” 

“Make it twenty,” he said. “I don’t want those Vint bastards winning again this season. No offense, Krem,” he chuckled.

Revie looked back in horror. Krem was Tevinter?! This nice young man who helped her when no one else would was from Tevinter?!

“None taken, coach,” the boy said amiably as he walked away. “At least a bastard knows who his mother was. That puts him one-up on your Qunari, right?”

Revie could only stare as he walked away.

Iron Bull laughed. “Old historical joke. Come! Have a seat.”

Revera awkwardly perched the bench he sat on. Iron Bull handed her a Styrofoam cup of orange Gatorade, which she almost dropped, she clutched it so awkwardly.

“So, I reviewed your file,” he said conversationally. “Academic scholarship, top marks in school, stellar letters of recommendation from your teachers—nice.” He leaned forward. “I know you’re new here, and it’s a lot to take in. But don’t you worry. I’ll get you where you need to go.”

She felt a sinking feeling.

“You’re not my counselor, are you?”

He laughed. “Nah, that’ll be Josephine Montiliyet. You’ll meet her at Orientation tomorrow. I’m just the guy in charge of your assigned dorm wing. But don’t you worry. I’ll make sure you’re all squared away. Anyone gives you trouble, you come to me, understood?”

He had a hand rested on one knee with his elbow jutting out, but he flexed a forearm; a casual warning of what he would do to anyone who bothered her.

“Can’t have anyone harassing my students,” he winked.

She sighed in relief. Hearing him put it like that, she felt reassured. She liked that he hadn’t mentioned she was an elf, or Dalish. He talked to her like she was any other student; one new, scared, overwhelmed, and in need of guidance. The casual, friendly way he spoke made her feel like they were already good friends (or acquaintances), and like any problem that might come their way was both no big deal and easily surmountable—one they could surmount together.

“Now, once the team finishes up here they’ll take a water break, then Krem will have them run laps,” Bull stood up to stretch—and Revie was treated to a nice, level eye shot of his great muscular torso. “Once they do, I figure I’ll show you your dorm.”

That reminded her of something. “Um, Bull,” she stammered, then kicked herself for not using a name more polite or formal – Iron Bull? Mr Bull? Who knows? “Why… did we need to meet here? Why not at the dorms?”

“Oh, sorry. Really wanted to get some practice in before term.” He leaned closer to her, like imparting a secret. “Those damn Vints really gave us a crushing defeat last season. I think it’s time we returned the favor.” He pointed to the team. “Most of them are here on a Sport’s Scholarship, you see. If they start losing the school sports, they might lose their scholarships.”

“I see,” Revie said, and watched them kick the ball around some more.

She felt a little sinking feeling. She was only here on an Academic Scholarship, so she didn’t have to push herself in sports to stay in like they did. But once term started and classes got underway, she had a feeling the real work of performing well to stay in would begin.

Bull stood up, and rolled his shoulder while cracking his neck. “Besides, I wanted you to meet your new roommate.”

Revie looked up at him abruptly. 

“I figured you’d want to meet her before you had to start fighting over who gets which dresser drawer.” From the water table, he picked up a clipboard with a form on it. “It says here on your dorm request form that you’d prefer an elven roommate, if I’m correct.” To Revie’s surprise, he was looking at the dorm request form she’d filled out and mailed six weeks ago. When he finished reading, he casually tossed it back on the table, back with the other assorted papers, fliers, and forms. 

“Unfortunately, the Elvhen Studies Department is too recent to have a wing to itself, and Skinner and Dalish have been bunk-mates since forever, so you get Sera.” He looked over the team. “She’s a little rough around the edges, but I think you’ll like her.” He suddenly blew a whistle. “SERA! Come meet your new bunkmate!”

Bunkmate! Revie was so nervous. She could hardly think! An elven bunk mate?! The school really came through on that? She’d thought for sure that was a long shot! She half expected them to bunk her with a super religious Andrastian human student. Oh, she was so nervous! What was she like? Would she like her? An elven bunk mate! They could tell stories! She wondered what kind of stories Sera could tell as a city elf--

Suddenly, a stray football hit Revie in the face so hard she fell flat on the grass.

Only then did her brain register what her elven ears had picked up a few seconds before: a distant “Head’s up!”

“You okay, kid?” she heard Iron Bull say from above. His great physique loomed over her like an eclipsed. She felt him grab her wrist and hoist her up as easily as she were a sack of clothes.

“Eugh!” she heard someone say.

A tall, buxom, robust-looking elven girl with short, messy, uneven blonde hair and a stained sports jersey walked over to the ball the hit her in the face. 

“Squishy one, but you heard me, right? ‘Head’s up!’”

The tall blonde elven girl easily kicked it up into the air with her foot and alternated between bouncing it up with her knee and hip. She was sweating heavily and smiling amiably. She then kicked the ball back to Revie, who barely managed to block it with an outstretched knee and hands before it hit her yet. 

The entire left half of her face was already going numb.

“So, you followed the notes well enough, did you? Glad to see you’re--”

The girl’s smile dropped the second she got a good look at Revie. “Aaand you’re an elf!” she grimaced, “Well, hope you’re not _too elfy_.”

Revera’s spirits sank so much on hearing that. She barely registered what else Sera had to say. She’d been sneered, gawked, snickered, and glared at all day for being an elf, after leaving her only family—the only _home_ she’d ever known—a few days ago.

She tried to keep up with what Sera was saying, though she talked on and on for another good ten minutes. Her accent was Denerish (our world’s equivalent to Yorkish) Ferelden mixed with a bit of Cockney. Her speech pattern was both rhythmic and disjointed. She tended to interrupt one train of thought only to linger too long on another. She seemed to have her own personal vocabulary she expected Revie to keep up with.

She had a feeling this would be a sucky semester.


End file.
